


kilo delta tango

by americangothic



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, Loneliness, published before ep 145 so almost definitely not canon compliant, very subtle threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 16:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americangothic/pseuds/americangothic
Summary: Jon and Basira returned to the Institute on a cloudy, grey day. There was a letter on Jon's desk.





	kilo delta tango

**Author's Note:**

> me: now i will practice writing fight scenes  
> me three hours later: oh no

Jon and Basira returned to the Institute on a cloudy, grey day. It was a Wednesday, too- Jon hadn’t checked a calendar in a while, but he knew the date. It wasn’t a good thing.

Before they went in Basira paused. “Jon,” she said, swallowing the urge to ask if he had a recorder on him. “Is there any business you want to- Anything you need to take care of before you go…” she trailed off. Both of them knew what she wasn’t saying. They had discussed it, or something like it, on the boat back from Ny-Ålesund.

“No. I should be fine,” Jon said. “Go do what you need to do.” 

Basira nodded. She didn’t need the permission- she’d talk to Elias whether or not Jon approved of it- but it helped them maintain the façade of a healthy work environment.

“Good luck, Jon,” Basira murmured. A moment passed, then she turned and walked away. Jon didn’t watch her cross the street and disappear into the midday street crowd, instead swallowing and pulling the doors.

He passed the threshold and looked around, somewhat concerned. Nothing was immediately out of place. No ominous fog, or eyes bulging out of places where they weren’t before, or- Jon shut that thread of thought down. It was unpleasant to think about, and there hadn’t been any changes since he left anyway, so he shouldn’t bother with it. Also, the daunting thought of  _ how he was actually going to pull this off _ probably should've been at the forefront of his mind. 

Jon blinked. Without thinking, he had autopiloted downstairs to the Archives, and more specifically to his office. It was still in the state he had left it before leaving to Ny-Ålesund, meaning there were papers strewn about his desk at seemingly random. A half-empty (and long cold) cup of tea sat on the edge next to a tape recorder. Jon sighed, before he frowned and looked back at the papers on the desk. One of them, the top adorned with the institute logo, that hadn’t been there when he left was perched on top of a pile. 

He moved to grab it and read it, then paused. The letter- because that’s what it was- was from Martin. Sinking down in his chair, Jon’s eyes roved over the paper.

_ Jon. Two things. A woman came in and gave a complaint that you had accosted her in a cafe and asked her about her statement. What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just go around forcing people to give you statements. She came in today _ \- and here the paper was dated to nearly a week ago-  _ but I know you’re out of the country right now, so it can’t have been in the past three weeks. How long have you been doing this? I’m not going to ask if there are more  _ ~~_ vict _ ~~ _ people, but I  _ ~~_ don't w _ ~~ _ think you should stop. At the very least, don't be cruel about it. _

_ Also, Ny-Ålesund. What the hell? You could've _ \- and here Martin's handwriting is scribbled over. It was like this for about a third of the page before the letter resumed, tartly.  _ When you get back, try to tone down the Beholding instincts or what have you. Thanks.  _ Underneath, the paper read "Head of the Magnus Institute, Elias Bouchard" except Elias's name had been crossed out. Above, there was a little line by Martin's. 

Jon sat in his chair for a moment, then stood. He gripped the paper as he headed back through the Archives and up towards Elias's o- Peter's- the office of whoever was the head of the Institute these days. The shoddy plan he had formed on his way in could still work, though Martin would most likely avoid him if he was even here today.

Outside the door, Jon came to a stop. Trying to look into the office just gave him a headache and an eyeful of fog. He didn't want to be… unprepared, not physically if it came to that, but he also didn't want to follow after Elias on the "brutal pipe murder" route. He paused, looked around, and then shrugged. He's done stupider things than rush in like this. Jon opened the door and stepped into the room.

No one was there.  _ Christ,  _ of course there isn't; Martin avoids him, and Peter- well, who even knows where Peter spends his time. God. The piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Jon stood there in the doorway, cursing himself for- for his stupidity, his lack of foresight, his general inability to create a coherent and useful plan-

"Martin," he said dully. The room is empty, and he retreats and shuts the door. Jon rests his forehead on it. "I'm sorry," he murmured, not quite sure who he was saying it to.

"Sorry about what?" Peter Lukas asked from behind him as Jon whirled around. He was humming something to himself in the hallway, looking expectantly at Jon as he blinked back at him.

Immediately, Jon opened his mouth and the static rushed in as a backdrop to his words. Now that he noticed it, Peter's rattling static was there too, but he didn't get long to focus on it. "T-" he started, just as Peter stepped toward him. 

"You know, I had hoped I wouldn't have to do this so soon after you got back from your trip, but you really are insistent," the taller man said. Jon's throat filled with static and he gasped, words temporarily unable to break through the layers of  _ alone you are lonely isolated you've been deserted alone lonely _ . He swung at Peter with a fist, but it went wide and Peter barely had to lean to avoid it. 

Jon gurgled and tried to punch again, but Peter grabbed his arm and yanked him to the side. He stumbled to the left and Peter's arm covered Jon's neck, choking out what little air he had managed to get. Jon stilled, upsettingly close to Peter's chest, and the pressure on his windpipe lessened. It was by no means comfortable, but Jon could take shallow breaths. As he did, Peter began to talk.

"How was the black sun, then? You seem awfully eager to report on it, but your colleague- Basira, was it? She doesn't seem to be anywhere around here. Anyway, I feel like we've got a good enough business arrangement that if I let go of your throat you won't compel me to do whatever it is you were going to do. That was your plan, by the way, which is. Well. I understand why Martin was groaning about all Beholding avatars being like this now."

As Peter talked, Jon's breathing began to hurt a little less. He swallowed, and Peter released him and he stumbled toward the opposite wall. They watched each other for a few seconds. 

"So," Peter said, not cheerfully, but pleasantly. His voice was calm in a measured way. "What did you need up here again?" 

Jon paused and shook his head, still staring at Peter. Behind the office door a few meters away, he could hear movement. Footsteps. He left the paper crumpled on the floor.

"It's fine," Jon said. Peter's lip curled upward. "Nothing we can't take care of on our own." 

"Of course. Let me know if there's anything that I could do to help the Archivist, then."

Jon nodded and broke eye contact, heading back down to the Archives. Peter's static faded behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> the title? well let's just say i don't know international maritime signal flags for nothing ;)
> 
> tumblr is autisticjon if you wanna come rb this or scream at me


End file.
